TO THE LIGHTHOUSE
But his father never praised him, James
Mr. Ramsay opened the parcel and shared out
the sandwiches among them. Now he was happy,
eating bread and cheese with these fishermen. He
would have liked to live in a cottage and lounge
about in the harbour spitting with the other old
men, James thought, watching him slice his cheese
into thin yellow sheets with his penknife.
This is right, this is it, Cam kept feeling, as
she peeled her hard-boiled egg. Now she felt as
she did in the study when the old men were
reading The Times. Now I can go on thinking
whatever I like, and I shan't fall over a precipice
or be drowned, for there he is, keeping his eye on
me, she thought.
At the same time they were sailing so fast along
by the rocks that it was very exciting—it seemed
as if they were doing two things at once; they
were eating their lunch here in the sun and they
were also making for safety in a great storm
after a shipwreck. Would the water last?
Would the provisions last? she asked herself,
telling herself a story but knowing at the same
time what was the truth.
They would soon be out of it, Mr. Ramsay was
saying to old Macalister; but their children would
see some strange things. Macalister said he was